


Sphallolalia

by breaumonts (AnonymousCatastrophe405)



Series: I'll Fall With You [7]
Category: The Royal Romance (Visual Novel)
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Flirting, Sexual Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, do not copy to another site
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-18 15:06:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16997289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonymousCatastrophe405/pseuds/breaumonts
Summary: “I’ll keep you company.”  He slides onto the vacant bar stool next to her, the expensive designer denim of his jeans brushing against her bare knees.  “I’m an excellent decoy boyfriend.”“I’ll bet.”  She thinks he’s probably excellent at a lot of things, boyfriend or otherwise.





	Sphallolalia

**Author's Note:**

> Jumping forward to Book 2, at some point in Paris.
> 
>  **Sphallolalia** \- _(n.) Flirtatious talk that leads to nowhere._

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”  Lisette ducks her head and hides behind her hand.  “Son of a bitch.”  
  
“Such language!”  A laugh to her left tells her Maxwell has appeared by her side, having surfaced from the dance floor for the first time since they got here.  “How crass, Lady Lisette, for shame.”  
  
“Oh really?”  She raises her eyebrows at him.  “You think so?”  
  
“You could use a few more fuckings, if you ask me,” he replies.  She can’t tell if he intended the double entendre or not.  “It’s a great word.  You can use it as any part of a sentence and still make sense.”  He smiles, his already blue eyes unreal under the dim blue light of the bar.  “I fucking love English.”

“What, does Cordonian not have a word like it?” she asks.

“Sadly, no,” Maxwell laments.  “We have an equivalent, but the, uh, grammar doesn’t let us use it so liberally.  Though we do manage to find a way to shove apples into everything, so I guess that makes up for it somehow… or something.  What’s taking you so long?”

“I’m hiding.”    
  
“Hiding?” he asks.  “From who?  Drake?”  
  
She snorts.  “No. from this… European guy.”  
  
Maxwell puts his hand on hers and says, very solemnly, “I hate to break this to you, Lisette, but  _every_  guy here is European.  Even me.”  
  
“No!” she gasps, putting a hand to her chest in shock.  “I had no idea!  Maxwell, how could you?  I thought you were Canadian.”  
  
“Yes, well, it’s sad but true.”  Some of his levity dissipates as he leans closer, his expression serious.  “Some guy is bothering you?”  
  
Lisette will never tell him, but his accent sounds unbearably suggestive when he speaks quietly like this.  It’s sexy to begin with, but there’s something about the private tone of it that makes her hot and sends a little frisson down the back of her neck to her core.   
  
She makes a waggly hand gesture.  “Eh.  A bit.  I mean, he creeped me out, I’m not gonna lie, but I don’t think he realizes I don’t speak whatever it is he does.  Like he thinks I’m being coy or something.  Flashing all this leg probably isn’t helping, either.”  
  
Maxwell gives her a look, like he doesn’t understand or that he’s not quite sure what she means, before glancing down and seeing that she is, in fact, baring a lot of leg tonight.  The hem of her dress is so high that he can see the barest glimpse of the octopus tattoo on her hip, a tentacle peeking out from underneath it.  It’s a tiny little club dress, the sort of thing she never would’ve worn a year ago back in New York; the skirt is supposed to be this short.  She catches a glimpse of the creepy guy over Maxwell’s shoulder and surreptitiously tugs the skirt down as far as it will go.  
  
He glances back in the direction she’d been looking and moves slightly, blocking her from sight.  “I’ll keep you company.”  He slides onto the vacant bar stool next to her, the expensive designer denim of his jeans brushing against her bare knees.  “I’m an excellent decoy boyfriend.”  
  
“I’ll bet.”  She thinks he’s probably excellent at a lot of things, boyfriend or otherwise.    
  
Maxwell smiles and signals for the bartender, a pretty thing with one of the roundest Afros Lisette has ever seen and glittery highlighter on her cheeks.  She looks like a fae creature, something otherworldly and lovely under the cool lights overhead.  She’s already brought Lisette one drink, and her accent is one of the prettiest ones Lisette has heard since they arrived in Paris.  “What can I get for you?”  
  
“Hello, yes.  My lady friend,” Maxwell puts his hand on Lisette’s knee, and it shocks her almost enough to distract her from how much thicker and impossible his accent has suddenly become.  “She would like a…”  
  
“Another aviation,” Lisette says.  “ _S'il vous plaît_.”  
  
The bartender smiles brilliantly.  “And you, m’sieur?”   
  
“Yes, and I will have a, how do you say…”  Lisette has to hide her smile at how ridiculous Maxwell sounds behind her hand.  His vapid, friendly expression twitches into something a little more real as he catches her eye and he squeezes her knee slightly as if to say watch this.  “A Sex on the Beach, please.”  
  
It comes out sounding a lot like  _a sexy bitch please_ , which is definitely intentional on his part if the glint in his eyes is any indication.  The bartender blinks, unsure if she misheard him, and he continues to smile at her, guileless, until she nods and leaves to make their drinks.  Maxwell laughs and his hand stays on Lisette’s knee even though the need for the ruse is gone, but she doesn’t have the heart to tell him to stop.  
  
“It’s funny every time,” he says, slipping back into his usual light accent and looking incredibly pleased with himself.  “Full disclosure: I haven’t paid for coffee since we got here with that trick.  It’s like I’ve finally discovered my superpower of getting free stuff because I’m handsome and foreign.”  He sighs, wistful.  “I love France.  I never want to leave this country.”

She bumps her knee against his and she smirks.  “You’re terrible.  You know that, right?”  
  
Maxwell beams like he’s glad she noticed.  “The worst!”  

“Has anyone ever tried to do anything about that?”  
  
“What?” he asks, still smiling.  There’s a little touch of suggestion tucked into the corners of his mouth.  “Like keep me in line?”  
  
“Is that how it is?”  She bites her lip to hide her smile as she rests her chin on her hand.  “You know, a little discipline never hurt anybody.”  
  
“I bet you know all about that.”  He lets the implication hang in the air between them for a moment.  That’s precisely how it is.  Lisette prides herself on normally being a sensible person, not the sort of woman who gets stupid around attractive men, but she didn’t anticipate Maxwell being the exact kind of man she’s weak for.  She wonders how far she could push this little game they’re playing, what other sorts of interesting things about him she might be able to suss out if she can keep this going.  
  
She hums thoughtfully and pushes just a little further, just to see what he does, and nudges his knee with her own.  “I might be persuaded to teach you a thing or two.”  
  
Maxwell shifts in his seat in a way that says  _yes please_ , and Lisette feels herself flush all over.  “I’d like that.”   
  
Oh, he’s trouble.  How did she not know he was trouble before now?  Her stomach flips pleasantly and she has to cross her legs.  It’s a better result than she could’ve anticipated or hoped for, and it makes her want to haul him off to some dark corner of this club to find out just how much trouble he can be, the creepy guy and her ridiculous dress completely forgotten.  She couldn’t hide the delighted smile on her face if she tried.  “Oh yeah?”  
  
“Yeah.”  He’s relieved she didn’t balk at it, but his smile is tentative, hopeful.  “Is that okay?”  
  
“It’s very okay.”


End file.
